Yassen has a daughter?
by pentaxx
Summary: Yassen finds out he has a child. She is forced to join SCORPIA. How will Yassen react, after what happened to Alex? This is the P.O.V. of Yassen.
1. нежелательный (Unwanted)

**Yassen has a daughter?**

 **By: pentaxx (Monidipa)**

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 _ **If you liked reading this, feel free to let me know by sending me a private message. You can also leave a comment down below. Feedback is very welcome!**_

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Yassen Gregorovich sat waiting in his private cottage which he had rented for the summer. He didn't exactly like staying in one place for a long amount of time.

It was tedious as well as dangerous because of the predictability. But then again, it was nice to have a place all to himself, where no pesky hotel attendants would disturb him. Though he did not show it, Yassen was unusually tense this day. It was because of a phone call he received earlier.

At first, he thought it would be instructions for him to go on another mission. "Yassen Gregorovich?" the voice on the other line had asked. "Yes, who is this?" he replied. "This may come as a surprise to you Mr. Gregorovich, but we believe that you have a daughter." Yassen was startled at the comment, but didn't show it.

"You are mistaken," his words were calm and measured. "I don't have children." But the man on the other line insisted that he did have- at least one that he knew of. "Mr. Gregorovich, she will visit you today at 12:00 P.M. You can see for yourself then."

They exchanged a few more words, and then Yassen clicked off his phone. He looked at the clock above the fireplace. 11:55. Five minutes. Even though Yassen knew it could not be true, however hard he tried, there was an unpleasant lingering doubt at the back of his mind that he could not get rid of.

At exactly 12:00, the doorbell rang. Yassen got up from the chair he was sitting on with the grace of a ballet dancer. He pressed a small white button near the door, and part of the wall seemed to open up. It pushed open a flat screen, then returned back to normal. A CCTV camera screen. It showed what was happening at the entrance of the door. On it, there were two bulky men with close cropped hair and hard eyes who were looking around. Yassen could tell that they were bored, and were new to the job.

They did not know who he was, nor did he know them but one thing was certain- they were Scorpia agents. There was a young girl that looked to be about fourteen who was standing in between them.

Yassen keyed in the code for his door and opened it. He did not greet the men. "I don't think this is necessary," he said. His voice was controlled and calm.

The men looked into the cold, pale face of the Russian assassin and shifted uncomfortably. There seemed to be an aura of danger about him. His appearance seemed to be in a way, almost feminine. Chiseled lips, narrow face, cold blue eyes. There was a stillness about him. Something that made the men feel that his calmness was just a facade for quiet ruthlessness. Yassen could easily be passed as a dancer, if it were not for his cold look. Although he had not spoken very loudly, the men could sense something dangerous about his tone, something threatening. "It was our instructions," one of them said. Yassen's eyes turned from the men to the girl. She was lean with hard blue eyes that vaguely, for a brief moment, reminded Yassen of his own. He shoved away that thought as quickly as it had come. What was he doing? This was not his child.

The girl had a scowl on her face. "What do you want with me?" she demanded. For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence. "Who told you to bring her to me?" Yassen asked the men. "Ms. Rothman suggested it. We don't know the exact details." That was something curious. For a moment, Yassen wondered how they had found her. But his expression gave nothing away. In a split second, he made his decision. "Come in then," he said. But the girl didn't move. "Why am I here?" she asked again. Yassen's day was getting stranger and stranger. But for some reason, he was not angry at her brash question. Instead, he found it slightly amusing. "Come inside. I will explain," he said.

"Are these goons going to follow me?" "Can you go in yourself, or do I need to ask these men to help you?" Yassen said cooly. The girl hesitated for a moment, but then went in, scowling. Yassen turned to the men. "You can leave. Your job is done." The men did, disappearing into a nearby blue car that was parked in the driveway. Yassen closed the door, and turned to the girl who was standing nearby. "Sit down," he said. The girl took in her surroundings. There was a set of leather sofas surrounding a fireplace that was lit. The room was a neutral peach colour, and there were some paintings on the wall of a boat and some sceneries. It almost seemed like the room was trying to be comforting, like it was pretending to be welcoming. But something about it made her feel uneasy.

As soon as Yassen turned his back, she lept at the door, pivoting on her heel and sending a kick that would have gone into his abdomen if he hadn't moved away in time. Yassen had predicted the move, and had reacted incredibly fast. Even if he did not expect her to lash out, he would have responded just as quickly. It was a skill, his short reaction time. An instinct necessary for not only his day-to day routine, but simply, for survival. "Please don't do that again," he said, and walked to the sofa. He took a seat.

Despite his statement, the insolent girl was still clawing at the door, shaking it furiously. "You're not going to get out that way," said Yassen calmly from the back of the room. "The door needs a code."

The girl hesitated for a moment, but still tried a few more times to open the door. When she wasn't successful, she finally gave up and took the seat in front of Yassen. It seemed that it she finally registered the fact that she had very little control over whatever would happen. It would not be wise to argue. Yassen looked at the girl. His eyes gave nothing away. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "You don't have to be afraid."

The girl glared at him. For a moment, Yassen was reminded of Alex Rider- the boy who caused a great deal of trouble to his employers. Yassen had seen the same look that the girl was giving him, in Alex's eyes, when he had talked to him. It was one of confidence and surety. Alex was the son of Yassen's favourite mentor, the one man Yassen looked up to in his early days of being an agent for SCORPIA. Ironically, Alex was also the boy whose uncle Yassen had killed.

Yassen turned his eyes to the girl. She had no idea what was going on in his mind, but Yassen was fairly sure that he had a good idea of what was going on in hers. "What is your name?" he asked her. "Why do I have to tell you?" "Because, it is in your interest to do so. If you don't tell me, I can easily find it out from other people. Now what is it?" The girl paused. "Dasha." "And your mother? What is her name?" Yassen's voice was even. The girl- Dasha- turned her head slightly away. "She died when I was little. I don't think I remember." "You want to know why you're here." Yassen said that more like a statement. "But first, I want to know how you arrived. Who brought you?" "I was at school," she said. "And then these people grabbed me and took me to a cell. I was in there for a while. I don't know anything else."

Yassen didn't say anything, but for some reason, the girl felt as if she were being appraised. His cold blue eyes remained detached and emotionless. "Do you know who your father is?" he asked calmly. "People told me that he died in a car crash...a few days after I was born," she responded. Yassen noted the change in her voice. "There are people I have been talking to," he said. "And they tell me that I have a daughter. For some reason, they think it might be you." The girl looked shocked. "What?" she exclaimed.

"I don't think so. You're a madman. Let me go. I'm not your child!"

For a minute, Yassen wondered if he was the only one having to include children in his work. He did not like it. It was one of the few things that made him slightly uncomfortable. In a way, they reminded him of his younger self, and the life he had to leave behind in Estrov. The children brought back memories that he had long tried to destroy. They reminded him of his past; the one thing that would always taunt him. The one thing that would never change or go away, no matter how hard he tried to forget. It was his only weakness. Yassen knew that people did not live a very long time if they're involved with criminal organizations, and the fact haunted him. "I'm not saying that you are my daughter. It's likely that you are probably not. In fact, I will send you home, right after I tell the people that you aren't who they think you are," he explained.

The girl scowled. "Yes? Well, when are you going to do that?" Yassen didn't respond. "Who do you live with right now?" he asked, avoiding her question. She turned away, breaking eye contact. There was a pause. Yassen waited. "I live in a foster home," she finally answered. For a while, neither of them spoke.

"Who are you?" Dasha asked on impulse. Yassen did not respond. His steady blue eyes and calm expression gave nothing away. Even though he did not show it, he was secretly amused at the girl's brash question. It seemed like a strange thing to ask. Briefly, he wondered whether he should answer. Would there be any harm in telling her? She was just a child. Besides, if his employer was interested in her, she would probably find out anyways. It would be entertaining at the least, to see how the girl would react. In a split second, he made up his mind.

"My name is Yassen Gregorovich."

The man carefully watched Dasha's expression. It had changed. She seemed like she was unsure of something, as if she was suddenly apprehensive. For a minute, Yassen wondered how she would react if he told her about his work. The thought was amusing. When the girl didn't say anything else, he stood up and walked away. "Hey," called the girl after him "where are you going?" Yassen stopped walking and turned around. "Come with me," was all he said, before continuing on his way, up the stairs.


	2. призвание (Calling)

As Dasha got up from the sofa and followed the man up the staircase, she wondered what she had gotten herself into. She should have known better than to go with strangers, even if they claimed that they were from social services. Dasha had gone through the routine many times- the workers would come every so often to "check" on her.

They would ask her if she was doing well, if she liked the home she was staying in, if there were any problems. Of course, Dasha doubted that the reason they came was purely for her well-being. She had lost count of how many schools she had to switch, how many homes she bounced off of. It was as if everyone she lived with wanted to get rid of her as soon as they could.

Dasha guessed that the only reason people welcomed her into their home was for the money. And soon, when she would turn eighteen, that one benefit she had would slip away too. Her eyes turned to the floor below her, as she advanced further up the stairs. Two rooms were visible from above. One, the living room, and another-she guessed- the kitchen. It was very clean and polished, with white marble for the countertops, two large sinks, a sleek black modern stove and refrigerator, and sliding creme coloured drawers.

It was obvious that the kitchen had cost a lot of money to design. In fact, the whole place looked as if it had cost a fortune, although from the outside, it looked plain and dull, just like any other normal cottage. She wondered why the man had asked for it to be that way. If you had wealth, why not flaunt it?

"This way," Yassen called, turning to the left. As she walked, she looked at the walls beside her. They were painted a rich mahogany and stretched four rooms on either sides of the stairs. Although Dasha had to admit that the architecture was beautiful, it seemed to almost emit a certain coldness. If it wasn't for the furniture and the design, she would have felt like she walked into a hospital. They had stopped in front of one of the doors. All the eight room's doors were identical, Dasha noticed. For some reason, she felt a shiver go down her spine. Beside the door was a keypad, and Dasha watched as the man swiftly pressed in some numbers and opened the door.

There was a table surrounded by two chairs near the side of the room, a mini fridge, a bed, and the floor was carpeted with a maroon fabric. "What are you going to do with me?" Dasha demanded. When Yassen didn't respond, she continued. "You say that you don't want me here. Then let me go. Tell them I ran away, if you have to." Yassen walked forward. "Come," he said, entering the room. Dasha hesitated, but came anyway. "It's not as simple as that," said Yassen. He turned to the girl, who was standing near the wall. "You will stay here," he said. "What? For how long?" "A while. There is food in the mini fridge," he said, and nodded in the direction of it. He turned away.

At that instant, Dasha struck. She lept at him, punching him with her fists, and screaming at the same time. For a moment, she seemed to gain the upper hand. But with dismay, she realized that she was wrong. Yassen didn't expect the move, but still he reacted incredibly fast, stepping smoothly to the side. In one movement, he grabbed her arm and twisted around, pinning her to the wall. He held her with one hand, then slowly reached into his pocket with the other. Dasha struggled, and was about to lash out at the loosened grip, when she froze. Her eyes widened at the gun that was pointed at her forehead. "I don't want to have to use this," said Yassen. "So please don't give me a reason to."

The girl had stopped fighting. She didn't say anything, just stared at the gun. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't move. It was like her body wasn't hers to control. Yassen released his grip, and carefully put away the gun. The girl was still staring at him, as if she couldn't believe what was happening. She didn't even try to stop him when he walked out of the door. Dasha heard the click from outside, and knew that she had been locked in. Despite her brain registering the fact, she seemed not to notice, taking a few clumsy steps forward, and slumping down on the bed.

Hawk Enterprises had its' headquarters in Britain. It was a travel agency that helped find and arrange flights for people, in addition to offering foreign money exchange services. Hawk Enterprises was a real business- the authorities knew it existed, and every so often, people would come in the building, and ask for services. But the exchange rates were so high, and the cost of the travel help so preposterous, the few customers who went in, were quick to get out. One could wonder how it even made money. But no one did. And that was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

What the authorities _didn't_ know, and what only a handful of people knew, was that in addition to being a travel agency, it was a building owned by Scorpia; one of the most ruthless and dangerous criminal organizations in the world. They found it almost laughable how ineffective the police were. Just recently, the police had just held a conference to boast about their successful efforts in stopping crime. They claimed that nothing passed their eye, that there were very few criminals on the streets, if not any. Scorpia might even have chosen this location for a laugh, as much as it chose it because of how safe it was. Yassen Gregorovich got out of the bulletproof car and walked forward. The driver did not demand any pay, and silently drove away, disappearing as quickly as he had come. As Yassen walked into the building, a camera above his head swiveled in his direction.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The floor was made of white marble, and the lighting was very cold and bright. There was a reception desk, as well as some chairs nearby. There was also an elevator, though it only went up to the second floor. "Hello," Yassen greeted the receptionist. She had blonde hair, and had sparkling blue eyes. "How can I help you?" she asked, smiling politely. "I have an appointment." The receptionist blinked. It took her a second to process. She turned back to Yassen, the smile back on her face. "If you'll just have a seat then, I can look into it for you." "Thank you," said Yassen. A short while later, the receptionist called him back. "You can take the elevator," she said, handing him a thin, metal card. There were two buttons on the elevator- 1st and second. But Yassen wasn't visiting any of them. When the doors closed, he inserted the card into a very thin, slot in the elevator. It was so thin, that it was practically unnoticeable.

At once, blue circles lighted up above the two buttons for the 1st and second floor. They went from the fourth floor, all the way up to the sixteenth. A slot opened, pushing out a flat electronic screen. Yassen placed his hand on the screen, and it lighted up. It had sensed his body heat, as well as read his fingerprints. "Authorized," said a robotic voice, that filled the elevator. "State floor." "Sixteen," Yassen responded, and the elevator began moving up. It took a matter of seconds before the doors opened again. Yassen stepped out into an office-like area. It had white lighting, and clean, polished floors. Few people were there.

A man talking on a cellphone, a person on the computer. He took in his surroundings all at once. The people didn't seem to notice him as he walked past. They knew that anyone who came here, came here for a reason. And it was not customary to ask questions. He turned left, and stopped at a door. The letters 'J.R." were scripted in black on the golden nameplate that was put on the door. He knocked. "Come in," called a voice. Yassen turned the knob and walked inside. The room was simple- there was a desk, and two chairs on either side of it. There seemed to be a coldness in the air, even though there were no drafts. No paintings decorated the room. But the owner didn't mind. After all, it wasn't designed for beauty. A woman was waiting for him, and she was seated in one of the chairs. She had long, dark hair and sparkling eyes. Someone could have easily confused her with a movie star, but in fact, she was anything but. Her name was Julia Rothman, and she was one of the executives of Scorpia.

"Yassen!" she smiled. "You came just at the right time. I was going to call you to tell you about another job, but then I was informed that you were already coming up! Please, sit down." Yassen did. "Would you like something to drink?" Julia Rothman asked. "No, I'm fine." "Okay. What brings you here? Did you just want to see me again?" "I came about the girl," said Yassen. "Oh! Well, I should have known that was why you would come! Tell me, how did it go? You must be surprised!" "She is not my child," said Yassen. "It was unnecessary of her to meet me. I don't know how you found her, but she is of no use. She should be sent back to wherever she came from."

Julia seemed unfazed, hardly surprised. She reached her hand into a drawer, pulling out a sheet of paper, and placed it on the desk in front of Yassen. It was a picture of a smiling woman who looked to be about twenty years old. She had brown hair that went down to her shoulders and dark, piercing eyes. "Do you remember her?" Yassen nodded. It was an agent that worked for the C.I.A. They had met when he was in his early twenties. "She was said to have died, but before that happened, she left a note," said Julia Rothman. She placed a piece of paper next to the picture. _I hope that this reaches the right hands, for I think I may not have long to live. I have a daughter. Her name is Dasha Regaldson. I had to give her away, I'm sorry. I hope one day, she understands why I had to do that. It was too dangerous to bring her along. Noone knows about her yet. But I feel like I should tell her who her father is. I don't want to hide it. I am done hiding this. Yassen Gregorovich, if you are reading this, you should know that Dasha is your daughter. I wanted to tell you in person, but unfortunately, that was not possible. I hope you understand. - Natalia_ As Yassen read the note, his hands shook. It was definitely her handwriting.

"Of course, we did have to look around a bit. Make some phone calls, talk to the right people. But eventually, we found her. And by the way, we don't think her mother is actually dead. She probably disappeared and assumed a new identity. After that little incident in Rome, I would think that would be the most reasonable thing she could do." Yassen didn't respond. "Why did you bring her here?" he asked finally. Julia laughed, showing off her dazzling teeth. "I would think that you would want to see your daughter, Yassen! Besides, we can find a use for her. If she is trained with Scorpia, she can make a great agent. Especially because she's so young. And who knows? Maybe some of your skills might have passed on to her!" Yassen shook his head. "You can't do that," he said.

"Why? She will be perfect for Scorpia. Imagine how good of an agent she'll be when she's in her twenties, if she starts training now. She'll be the best of the best!" "She is a child. It's no use teaching her." "We recruited you when you were a child," pointed out Julia. "You were just three or four years older than she is now. And look how efficient you turned out to be!" "She will cause unnecessary trouble. She will not want to join," said Yassen. There was a glint in Julia Rothman's eyes. "Oh I think she will. It's just a matter of persuasion." There was something dangerous in her voice, something that challenged Yassen to argue any further.

He looked away. "You are making a mistake," he said. "No," said Julia Rothman. "I'm pretty sure I'm not. She will attend Malagosto in two weeks. I've already made the bookings." "And what am I to do with her?" asked Yassen. "Well what else are you going to do with her? Keep her in your company until the day she will need to come." "And what if she escapes?" Julia Rothman laughed. "You don't know how to control a fourteen year old? That's very funny, actually. That you would even consider that as a possibility." "She will interfere with my work. I do not need children to get in my way."

"Well you're going to have to. At least, for two weeks. Then, you'll be free of her. Now, what was I going to say? Oh, yes. We have another job for you…" But Yassen wasn't listening to what she was saying. When Julia Rothman finished talking, he stood up and quietly exited the room. Outside, he pulled out a cellphone and spoke into briefly. A while late, a black jeep pulled up into the driveway, and Yassen got inside. As normal as the car looked to be, it was anything but. The windows were tinted and bulletproof, the licence plate was fake, and it had special, hidden features that were not normally included by car manufactures. He didn't need to tell the driver where he was going. Yassen watched from the window as the car pulled away, and left Hawk Enterprises behind.


	3. побег (Escape)

**Hi, everyone! If you like this story, please let me know! I worked hard on this chapter, and I hope that you liked reading it. I just love writing stories, and Yassen is my favourite character in the Alex Rider series, so I decided to make a piece of writing about him. Russian Roulette is one of my favourite books of all time! I even wrote a six page essay (which I'm currently editing) on why I think it's so appealing. Well that's enough talking from me! :) Enjoy the story!**

 **\- pentaxx**

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Back in the locked room, Dasha was looking around for a way to escape. It seemed as if everything in the room was designed in a way which made them unusable for any purpose other than what they were built for. Her best bet would probably be to grab a chair and bring it down on the man's head when he opened the door, but she doubted it would work.

As he had already proven earlier, he was capable of reacting incredibly quickly, and Dasha didn't like to think what would happen if her plan failed. Maybe he would use the gun after all. There were no windows, and even if there were, Dasha guessed that they would be bulletproof and unbreakable. She tried making some sound by banging the wall, and shouting as loud as she could, but after a while, she stopped.

There was no point to it. It became clear enough when she was taken to the cottage, that not much people visited or walked around the streets in the area. That was probably why the man had wanted his cottage built here. With a sickening though, she realized that if she didn't find a way to get out herself, she'd be completely at the man's mercy. He could make her disappear into thin air, and no one would be any the wiser. The thought fueled her on her search. Just as she was about to give up, her eye caught on something.

An air vent; near the corner of the room. It was painted white, the same colour as the ceiling. If Dasha hadn't noticed it by accident, she would probably have never noticed it at all. Dasha walked forward to investigate. Looking up, she saw that it was not very big- about 10 by 10 inches. She wondered if it would be big enough for her to enter through. Dasha had heard about people escaping through vents, but she didn't know a whole lot about it. But that didn't matter. She looked around the room one last time, to see if there was any other way to escape, but of course, there wasn't. She knew that it was going to be claustrophobic inside the vent, maybe even dangerous. But she also knew that she didn't have any other options. The vent would have to do, and she was just going to have to take her chances.

The table creaked as Dasha dragged it across the room. She placed it directly below the vent, then stacked a chair on it. The structure shook a bit as she tested it to see if it would hold. For a second, she wondered if going inside the air vent was a good idea. What would happen if she got stuck? She knew that if she fell, it was going to be quite a while before she would hit the ground. And when she did, she would break both of her legs, and if she was unlucky, maybe even get a few more bones broken, with a concussion to top it off. No, she told herself. If she kept thinking about what she was going to do, she would never have the courage to do it at all. It was now or never.

Without thinking, Dasha climbed on top of the chair. She stood up, and tried to reach the vent. It was no use. Even while stretching, her fingers missed by inches. She would have to try another way. Dasha climbed back down to the ground. For a minute, she wondered how much time had passed. What if the man was already coming back? The thought fueled her on, as she searched for an object to help her reach the vent. Suddenly, an idea hit her. The mini fridge! Quickly, she got a bottle of water from it, and emptied its' contents on the carpet. She squeezed the plastic, testing how strong it was. Perfect. The bottle was both long and sturdy.

She got up on the chair again, with the bottle in hand. She looked at the small dial beside the vent, wondering if her idea would work. Dasha reached forward, and using the back of the bottle, she pushed down on the dial. There was a faint click, and the whole opening of the vent fell down. She almost lost her balance as it nearly hit her on its' way down. Looking up, she saw that there was just an empty hole where the cover had once been. Dasha would have to jump inside, and hope she didn't lose her balance. She knew that a fall from that height was not going to be good. If she miscalculated and fell, there would be a chance that she would break both of her legs.

Dasha closed her eyes and took a breath. She tried to imagine that this was all a game. It would not help her to be frightened. She focused on the opening of the air duct, trying to fix all her concentration on it. The bottle slipped from her fingers, and clattered to the floor. One...Two...Three… Jump, she told herself. And she did. Dasha gripped the edges of the duct and forced herself in. It was her head that first entered, then followed her arms, and lastly her legs. Dasha crouched in the small space. She was right about it being a tight fit, alright! If she had been just a little bigger, she wouldn't have been able to fit inside.

Dasha moved her arms forward, sliding herself across the duct. She winced as her head hit the top of the vent. It was not dark inside, and she was glad for that. She could see where her arms were, and what position she was in, so that would be a bit helpful. Dasha continued on her way, pulling herself forward. She only moved a few inches at a time, but at least it was progress. She just hoped that she could make it out before the man arrived. A few minutes passed, but to Dasha, it seemed like hours. For a horrifying moment, she wondered if she would die here. It was only now that she thought of how she would open the opening of the vent on the other side. But she quickly pushed that thought away. It would not help her to worry. Dasha would deal with the problem when the time came.

The goal now, was to make it to the end. As Dasha pushed herself further, she felt a strange feeling...almost as if she was losing breath. She realized that it was getting harder to breathe inside the tight enclosed space. Her body was hurting, screaming for room to stretch out. She ignored the rising panic inside of her, and went on. Just when she planned on giving up, and accepting defeat, she saw the end of the duct. Light streamed in from the cracks of the air vent opening, rewarding her aching muscles. With renewed energy, she went forward. When she reached the opening, she took a moment to rest, breathing heavily. Dasha's eyes went back to the barricade in front of her. This was it. She had made it!

But her job still wasn't finished. With the last of her strength, Dasha placed her hands on the opening and shook. When the entrance didn't give away, she shook harder. But it was no use. The thing wouldn't open! Dasha felt as if she had been cheated. She came all this way, and for what? So she could just get stuck in the end? There were just inches between her and her destination! It wasn't fair! A burst of anger coursed through her. Dasha shook the opening harder, tears of frustration brimming in her eyes. Then, suddenly, there was a brilliant flash of light. Dasha had just enough time to see something white, before she fell from the duct, the opening coming down with her.

Pain coursed through her body as she hit the floor, but she didn't mind. With a groan, she stood up, swaying. Items in her line of vision seemed to get smaller and larger, focused and unfocused. She shook her head, and tried to shake off the dizziness. In a few moments, she realized that she was in the man's living room. She had landed right next to a sofa, missing it by inches. With a smile, she took in the fact that she had finally made it out of the room. But she was quick to remind herself that she wasn't finished yet. Escaping the room was one problem, but getting out the house was another. She steadied herself against the arm of the sofa, then walked forward.

How could she get out? Maybe the vent she had just went out of could lead to the roof, but she wasn't prepared to go through that experience again. Try as she might, she didn't think she could go through the vent again, now that she knew what it felt like. Suddenly, a idea went through her mind. With it, came chills down her spine. What if she were to grab a knife from the kitchen, and use it to somehow stab the man as he entered the house? No. She pushed the thought away from her head as quickly as it had come. It was too horrible to think about. Besides, she doubted that she could do such a thing like that. It was then she noticed the edge of a black, metallic object.

It was seated on a side table beside the television screen, almost hidden away from sight. Dasha had been lucky to be at the right angle, or else, she wouldn't have seen it at all. As she moved closer to the object, it slowly began to take shape. Before it had looked unfamiliar, oddly shaped. But as much as Dasha wanted to believe that she didn't know what it was, she did. And she couldn't help it. Dasha picked up the object and weighed it in her hand. The cold, hard metal rubbed against her skin, waking her up from her trance.

This wasn't a dream. She was holding a gun. For a moment, she wanted to fling it away. Wanted to pretend that this wasn't happening. But she knew. She knew that she couldn't. Instead of letting go of the gun, she gripped it harder. She tried telling herself that she wouldn't fire. She would just use it as a threat. Noone would get hurt. Besides, if she didn't use it, how else would she escape? This was her only choice. The only way to escape. But still, an uncomfortable thought lingered at the back of her mind. Dasha pushed it away. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the gun, and absentmindedly, she flipped off the safety switch.

When Yassen Gregorovich got back to his cottage, the first thing he did was check the surveillance camera footage from earlier that day. As usual, there was nothing. He went upstairs to go back to the room he had locked the girl in. For some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about the child. Yassen had decided that he would play as small of a role as he could in whatever would happen to her. He wondered why he should even care about her. Many children around the world die everyday, and even more are taken advantage of, so what difference would one more make? He himself had once been one of the children who had an unfortunate childhood, and no one had bothered to help him.

It did not matter if it was the girl's fault that she was in the circumstance, or not. She had become a target of Scorpia, and now, she was paying the price. Even before Yassen opened the door of the room, he sensed something was wrong. It was a feeling that was indescribable- a biological instinct that warned him of danger. It had developed over many years, and had saved him from death by mere inches, on multiple occasions. The instinct was never wrong. Even so, Yassen hesitated to believe it. But as he opened the door, he knew that he couldn't deny his assumptions anymore. The girl was gone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was secretly pleased. But at the same time, he wondered if she had somehow managed to get outside. But that wasn't very likely. The lock on the main door was harder to break out of, and even if she managed to get out some other way, there would be nowhere for her to go. She would need a vehicle to get out onto the main road. If she decided to walk the way, Yassen could just wait until the next morning to pick her up, and she wouldn't be very far off from where she started.

It was then Yassen sensed a movement behind him. He turned around, and found himself looking into the face of a frightened fourteen year old, pointing a gun at him with shaking hands.


	4. триггер (Trigger)

"Give me the code to the main door," Dasha said, fighting to keep her voice steady. The words came out strangely, two tones higher than she had wanted them to be. Yassen seemed hardly surprised. His eyes went from the gun, to Dasha. When he spoke, his words were calm and controlled.

"Hello, Dasha. I didn't expect to see you here."

The girl tried not to take notice of his watchful gaze. He was studying her. Yassen's cold blue eyes gave nothing away, but Dasha felt almost as if he was curious to see how she would react, what she would do. "Give me the code," Dasha repeated. "Give it to me, or I'll shoot." Dasha hoped she sounded convincing enough. If everything went as planned, she wouldn't need to use the gun. She tried not to show any fear or hesitation.

Dasha was the one in control. The man should be afraid of her! But yet… he didn't seem to be. Despite her having the gun, he seemed to have the upper hand, the one in control. This was not how Dasha had planned it to be. "That wouldn't be a very good idea, little Dasha." Yassen hadn't changed the tone of his voice, yet somehow, it radiated confidence and authority. He took a step forward.

"No!" shouted Dasha. She raised the gun in warning, and tried to steady it, despite her shaking hands. "Don't move any closer!" But Yassen seemed not to have heard. "Where will you go after you have killed me? This place is many miles from the main road, and assuming you do somehow manage to get there, how do you know if anyone would give you a ride?" His voice was reasonable, calm.

Then, suddenly, Dasha saw something flicker across his eyes. The movement was dark. Very brief. For a moment, Dasha wondered if she had made it up in her mind. Maybe it had just been a trick of the light. "And besides," continued the man "I don't think that you will be able to kill me." His tone had a chilling quality to it.

"And I don't think you would want to take that chance. I will. I will kill you!" Dasha cried. "Many people have tried." Yassen seemed to say the words almost self-reflectively. His cold gaze returned to the girl. "Killing a man in real life, is not like in the movies, Dasha. You will only realize that when you fire the bullet. But by then, it will be too late. I will already be dead." He paused, letting the words sink in. His expression seemed to darken, as he uttered his next words. "Can you do it? Can you pull the trigger, Dasha?" The words almost seemed like a challenge.

The girl marveled at his self-control. Here he was, facing death in the eyes, and he did not seem to be afraid at all. Rather, he was accepting the fact, taking it in without so much of a glance. Dasha said nothing. She couldn't say anything, even if she wanted to. She was paralyzed. She looked at the man standing in front of her. His calm blue eyes watched her carefully, never once turning away, or losing attention.

Did she really have to shoot this man, just to escape? And even if she did, it would be doubtful that he would give the code anyways. He seemed not to care whether he died or not. Even though Dasha didn't want to think about these thoughts, they came anyway, pushing into her mind, refusing to go away. She closed her eyes and took a breath. It would not help her to have doubts about what she was going to do. If she wanted to shoot this man, she would have to do it quickly, without hesitation. She looked into the man's face one last time. It did not matter if he was a human, she told herself. Killing him was the only way out. The blue eyes set on a pale cold face, watched her as she raised the gun.

Dasha took a breath. Then, she fired. Her aim was at the floor, just a few feet away from Yassen.

But something was wrong.

The man didn't cry out. He didn't even blink. There was only silence. Dasha realized at the last moment, that the bullet had not come out. At first, she couldn't believe it. But then, slowly, she understood what had happened. The gun was not loaded! She didn't have time to check it...The man had come inside the house just as she had picked it up.. Did he know it? Was that the reason why he was so calm? Dasha looked at him. It was impossible to tell. It wouldn't make much of a difference either way, she guessed. He would still probably react the same. Eerily calm and controlled.

The man was still watching Dasha. His expression hadn't exactly changed, but there seemed to be a mixture of sadness and pity in his eyes. Maybe even a little disappointment. "Put down the gun, Dasha," he said. Dasha didn't know what else to do. She did. The man turned and walked away. He took a seat on the sofa. For a moment, Dasha hesitated following him. But then it dawned on her, that she did not have anything to lose. Following the man would have the same results as being locked in a room. Dasha had no control in what was happening, and she knew it. The girl took the seat opposite to Yassen.

For a while, neither of them spoke. "There is no use to keep trying to leave," said the man finally. "It just makes things more difficult for you. The only way that you can get out, is by figuring out the code to the door." "Why am I still here?" Dasha asked. "An important person has taken interest in you. If you are really intent on leaving this place, you should know that you will, In two weeks time. You will go to a special school near Venice," he responded. "Venice?" Dasha exclaimed. "When you go there, they will tell you everything," he said simply. He did not elabourate any further. Although his tone had not changed, Dasha sensed discomfort in the man's voice. She wondered why. Dasha felt almost as if he was hiding something, something he wished not to bring up. Or maybe she was just imagining it.

"What if I don't want to go?" Dasha asked.

"It is an invitation that you cannot refuse."

His words were cold and definite. Something dangerous seemed to lurk in his tone. His expression was the same- calm and controlled, and although Dasha didn't know what had changed about it, she knew that something definitely was different. But maybe it would be better if she didn't know. Dasha decided not to test the limits. "What am I going to do there?" she asked. "You will train to be one of their agents."

Dasha looked at the man. "Agents?" "Yes, Dasha." For a minute, there seemed to be a hint of amusement in the man's voice. "I can see that you don't believe me. But I am sure that will change when you get to Venice. There, you can also make your decision about whether or not you want to go back to foster care. No one is going to force you to stay, but you will not be permitted to leave now." There was a pause as Dasha thought about what the man had said. "Alright," she answered finally. There would be no use arguing. She knew what the man had said was right. No matter how hard she tried, she would not be able to get out of the house without a code. Dasha would just have to go with the flow. Accept what would happen and deal with it when the time comes.

"Do you like your foster home that much?" The man had spoken. "Is that why you try escaping at every possible opportunity you can find?" When Dasha didn't respond, he continued. "Social Services want you for the money you bring to them. They don't care about you. How many schools have you had to move so far? How many times did you switch homes? How many times did you feel like you were not wanted?" He paused, looking at Dasha. His blue eyes seemed to bore into her mind. Dasha thought he would continue speaking, but he didn't.

Yassen stood up, and walked away. Dasha watched the man leave. She realized that he had left her the freedom of doing whatever she wanted. She was not locked in a room, or restricted in any way. The man had trusted her not to do anything.


	5. Прибыти (Arrival)

**Hi, everyone. This piece of writing wasn't exactly edited. I just wanted to post this all today so I would just have it out on text. It's a workable draft, and it is probable that I will change a few things up later.**

 **\- pentaxx**

* * *

Two weeks passed by quickly. In that time, Dasha could not help but think about what the man had said to her. He told her that social services did not care about her, that they just wanted her for the money.

Dasha was once again reminded of the fact that they would kick her out when she turned eighteen- they had even gone through the trouble of saying it to her themselves! But, as much as Dasha didn't want to believe the man, she knew that he was right. She was no better off here, than she was in foster care. At least she got some freedom here. Most of the times, she didn't even have her own room in the homes she went into! They always treated her as if they didn't trust her, as if they suspected that she did something wrong.

Here, she had excellent food, shelter, everything she needed! Why _was_ she trying to escape...to go back to them? There would be no harm in staying a little longer. Besides, if for some reason, she didn't like staying, the man had said that she was free to leave, when they got to the school near Venice. Dasha had nothing to lose! She decided to see where the adventure took her.

* * *

"Come on," said Yassen. He was dressed in a light jacket, and black track pants. Dasha woke up from her sleep, and looked at the alarm clock beside her. 5:00 A.M. She groggily got to her feet, and followed the assassin out of the room.

Despite the time, Yassen looked alert and energized, as if he had rested for a long time. In fact, Yassen had slept for only three hours- an hour less than the time he usually spent time sleeping. To others, his strict schedule might have seemed tiring, but Yassen had allowed it to become a part of his life. He didn't like to waste his time, and found nighttime to be one of the most productive times of the day.

"We will miss our flight if you don't pick up your pace," he said. Yassen handed her a black sweater. "What's this for?" Dasha asked. "It's cold outside." She put it on, too tired to disagree. In one swift movement, Yassen pulled out a cellphone from his pocket and dialed a few numbers. The line was answered in two rings. "Hello," Yassen spoke into the phone. His voice was calm and pleasant. "Yes...yes. Perfect." A few words were exchanged between him and the other person on the end of the line, before Yassen turned off his phone.

He walked to the front door, and opened it. As Dasha followed him outside, he was suddenly alert. But Dasha didn't plan on running away. She shivered as the chilling air hit her. Looking up, she saw that the sky was a rich blue. It was still dark outside, but she could tell that the atmosphere was getting brighter. A black jeep was waiting outside the cottage, just a few feet away from it. Yassen opened the passenger's door, and waited for Dasha to go inside, before entering himself. The driver didn't greet them or ask about the destination they were going to. There was no need to. He already knew. What he did not know was why they were going, but he did not ask. It was not customary to question his passengers, unless it was required for his job.

After about forty minutes of driving, the car pulled up next to a grassy field. When Yassen and Dasha got out, the driver left as discreetly and as quietly as he had come. A helicopter was waiting for them a few meters away. Yassen reached into his pocket, and brought out something. For a minute, Dasha didn't recognize what it was, but as the thin, long object glinted briefly in the light, she realized that she was looking at a needle.

"This contains disoprivan," Yassen said. His voice was even and controlled. "It's a sedative that will make you lose conscience for a long time, depending on the amount given. This particular injection has enough medicine to sedate you for hours. If you do anything out of the ordinary, if you so much as blink without permission, I will not hesitate to administer it into you. Anyone that might happen to walk by, will simply think you have gone to sleep. That is why you should think very carefully about your actions while you are in the helicopter. Because as you can see, there are some very unpleasant consequences if you do not." Yassen said this very calmly, as if he were having a perfectly normal conversation.

Dasha nodded wearily, indicating that she understood. She knew the man was taking a considerable risk by taking her live and conscious. Dasha had no doubt that he meant exactly what he had said. Yassen would be watching her, and if he sensed anything that did not seem right, he would inject her with the drug before she would have a chance to even say anything, no questions asked. They boarded the helicopter. The pilot- a middle aged black haired man- was already waiting for them inside. He started the engine the minute they got in, without asking questions. They would just be a waste of time. The noise of the rotating helicopter blades caught Dasha unprepared. She didn't know it was going to be this loud!

Dasha covered her ears at a weak attempt of muffling the noise. The blades spun faster and faster, and soon, the whole helicopter lifted itself off the ground. Dasha looked at the view from outside. As the helicopter moved farther up, the scenery changed from the still green of the ground, to a vast valley of green. There were little houses and buildings farther in the distance, which got smaller and smaller, until they were replaced by a strong light blue that dominated the area of the window screen. She couldn't see how it looked on land, below her. The helicopter had moved too high up.

For a minute, Dasha looked at the window beside her. The view was not interesting, but she still stared at it. Dasha had left the only thing she knew behind, the one thing that she was certain of- her home. Even though foster care had not been something she'd liked, at least it was something. Briefly, she wondered whether she had made the right choice by going with the man.

No, it wasn't a choice.

Even if she had not wanted to go, the man would have made her. But deep down, even though a part of her still refused to believe it, she knew that she wanted to go. She wanted to start a new life, to find a place that she belonged. Even if this wouldn't be the place she was looking for, but at lest it was a step forward. She had nothing in foster care. But she was lucky. She had been given a chance to go to a whole different place, a whole new environment to start her life again from scratch. Still, there was one thought that was restricting her, pulling her behind from wanting to go. No matter how much she wanted to deny it, her life _was_ foster care. It was where she grew up, and lived. It was memories that she couldn't leave behind. Now, she was leaving. And she didn't know if she would ever return.

* * *

The flight plan of the helicopter was already registered with government authorities. Even as it was in the air, every moment that it made was tracked live on ground, using a combination of GPS and radio wave technology. The helicopter was going all the way to Turkey, Istanbul. It was a five hour trip, and according to tracking devices, there was fifteen minutes left until it would land. The papers were complete, everything was in place. Nothing had been overlooked.

But there was something wrong.

What the authorities didn't know, was that all the information they were receiving was false. They were not following the real progress of the helicopter. It was actually on route to an island within the borders of Italy, just near Venice. The few people who knew the island even existed, referred to it as Malagosto. It was privately owned by SCORPIA-one of the most ruthless and most dangerous criminal organizations in the world. And it was that same organization that misguided the authorities and tampered with the tracking system they used.

The signals of the helicopter had been re-routed, and the computers the authorities were using, didn't even pick up the simple malfunction. SCORPIA had made sure of that. All it took was the right contacts, and the appropriate amount of money to change up the rules a little. The process of tampering with the systems was made even easier when SCORPIA sent some of its' own operatives under cover as government authorities.

But that didn't mean it was simple to interfere with the systems...at least, for the general public. The laws for obtaining a private helicopter and flying it across country borders were strict. It often took months of deliberation and paperwork before a proposal was even looked at, much less approved. But SCORPIA was not a part of the general public. It had taken them about a day for the flight to get approved. And that was not surprising. SCORPIA was a powerful organization, and it did not like to let anything stand in its' way.

"Hello?" A box near the controls of the helicopter suddenly burst to life. The voice that was being transmitted to it, filled the space. There was a pause, then a slight crackle. "Please state your intentions." The voice spoke again. "Eastern side. Two passengers on board," the pilot responded.

"And your booking number?" "31200513." The pilot didn't even stop to think. He already had the code memorized, despite only hearing it once. "Thank you," said the voice, after a pause. The pilot knew that ground control on Malagosto had verified the number and the details he provided them, in a matter of seconds. If anything seemed the slightest bit questionable, if even one number did not match up with what was on their screen, there was a large change that the helicopter would be shot down, the passengers killed before they could utter another word- no questions asked. SCORPIA did not take changes, and that had been made quite clear to the pilot when he first applied for the job. "You are authorized to proceed." Five words. Then, the helicopter was silent again.

It stayed that way until it landed, five minutes later. The doors of the helicopter opened, letting light stream inside. It had landed on a strip of asphalt ground, which transitioned to sand, on either sides of it. The landing ground, made specifically for helicopter, was seemed to be stationed on a beach. Dasha could see a few buildings and huts in the distance, which were painted orange by the afternoon sun. "Out." It was the first word Yassen spoke, before they had gone into the helicopter. Dasha went first, followed by Yassen.

Outside, she had a more clearer view of her surroundings. To the left of her, there was the edge of water. The sandy area continued only for a while, and soon she found herself walking on dirt ground. Yassen was leading her towards a hut shaped structure in the distance. When they got closer to it, Dasha saw that the roof was made of a mixture of straw and some other sturdy material. The walls were made of sticks and wooden boards, however, the structure still, somehow, had a modern aspect to it.

Dasha didn't know why, but she felt almost as if the owner saw it as a fashion accessory. The hut was supposed to look not very expensive to build, like something someone would find in a poor area of a country, where people did not have the money to buy houses. It was all part of a theme, just a game in a party. For some reason, she got the feeling that if the owner had wanted, they could have had something much more better built. Yassen knocked on the door. "Come in!" called a voice from inside. It was very cheerful, uplifting. Dasha entered the room, and took in her surroundings. The walls were bare, except for two paintings- both of tropical landscapes. There was a desk stationed in the center, with three chairs on either sides of it- two on one side and one on the other.

A smiling woman was sitting on one of the chairs. She had rich, dark black hair which matched her piercing eyes, and brought out the red lipstick she was wearing. Her smile was dazzling. It showed off white teeth that were perfectly straight. Briefly, Dasha was reminded of movie stars she saw on television. If she had ever thought of how they looked in real life, the woman's sharp, beautiful features would certainly be something she would be expecting. She was wearing a dark blue dress, and had a matching handbag, rested on her lap. Dasha could tell that it had cost a lot of money; the fact was obvious. There was a blonde haired girl who looked to be about twenty one years old, standing next to the woman. She was slim, and had sparkling blue eyes.

The woman noticed Yassen enter, and she seemed just about to say something, when the door burst open. All eyes turned to the man who had entered. He was lean, with black hair and dark eyes. His face was pale, as if he had just witnessed something dreadful. When he spoke, his words tripped over each other, coming out in a jumbled mess. "Ms. Rothman… Something's gone wrong… One of the men in the project..he-" The man seemed not to notice the people around him. All his attention was fixed on the person he was speaking to. He gulped, and took a breath, as if he was trying to build up the courage to say his next words. "The vial has been compromised," he said finally.

The woman was calm, composed. She didn't seem to be angry, but for some reason, Dasha sensed otherwise. In a split second, she saw something dark pass across the woman's eyes. It was very brief. If Dasha had not watched her so carefully, she would have missed it. "That's unfortunate," Ms. Rothman said calmly. "I didn't do anything!" The man was suddenly on the defense. He had sensed the coldness in her tone, even though it did not give anything away. There seemed to be a quiet danger in the air. A feeling of unrest that was indescribable.

"I can take care of him, if you like. No extra cost." An uncomfortable silence filled the room as the woman considered. After a pause, she finally came to a decision. Ms. Rothman frowned.

"That will not be necessary."

In one movement, she took out a silver revolver from her purse, and fired a single shot. It was done so smoothly, the man didn't even cry out. As the bullet spat out, and finished its' short journey into the man's chest, he was propelled backwards, a line of red spewing from the hole in his heart. Julia Rothman barely flinched. She tucked away the revolver back into her designer purse. It was at that moment, she seemed to notice Dasha. "Welcome to Malagosto!" she said with a smile. Dasha was at a loss for words. She was so surprised, so shocked at what happened that she just stared at the woman who had spoken to her.

Julia Rothman noticed the look on her face, but didn't seem to mind. "We don't tolerate mistakes," she said, as if that was supposed to explain everything. "Vaska here, will be your guide." The woman turned her head slightly towards the girl who was standing next to her, as an indication of what she said. The smiling girl didn't seem to be at all affected by what had happened. "She will show you to your room," continued Julia Rothman. "We'll meet again at supper." The woman turned away, signalling the end of the conversation. The blonde haired girl next to her stepped forward. "Come on!" she said cheerfully. Dasha took one last look at the woman who she had just seen shoot someone for saying the wrong words.

Briefly, she wondered what the man had done to provoke her. It had to be something serious. Why else would she murder him? But for some reason, Dasha didn't believe her thoughts. She wouldn't be surprised if the woman were to shoot someone, without even knowing them. There seemed to be a coldness about her, a ruthlessness. It was masked by dazzling smiles and a cheerful personality, but Dasha couldn't deny the unmistakable aura that seemed to surround her. It was like a lingering smell that refused to go away, a quiet warning of danger. Dasha didn't know what was wrong about the woman, but she did know that she would have to be very careful around her. Dasha followed Vaska out of the office, glad that she didn't have to spend any more time in the room. Julia Rothman's eyes followed her as she left.


End file.
